


Sirenity

by TheWalkingDebt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angry Loki, Asgard, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Loki Feels, Loki jealous, Loki-centric, Love at First Sight, Magic-Users, Mutual Pining, Sirens, just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 05:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10482963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingDebt/pseuds/TheWalkingDebt
Summary: Loki falls for his Midgardian handler. But there's something about you that makes you very different from the apes that otherwise inhabit this planet.





	

The first time he put eyes on you, he was enchanted. Your voice was, and is, unlike any other, and that should have been his first clue. He isn’t easily fooled, or bewitched; he hadn’t expected you to be any different from another Midgardian.

His heart was beating like a drum in his ears.

You introduced yourself with a small smile and outstretched hand, “Prince Loki, I assume. Fury assigned you to me as soon as he heard you would be coming.”

He found himself floundering to hide his pleasure in a sneer, pretending to view your full body as if judging and finding you wanting rather than _himself_ , “What can such a small Midgardian like you do to stop me?” He ignored your hand, preferring to keep the trembling digits inside his coat pockets. Midgardian clothes, it seemed, could be preferable at times. Your hand dropped.

You grinned, wide and teasing, “You’ll find me to be quite the adversary, should you choose to make it hard on yourself.” You turned, walking briskly down the lobby and to the elevator. “Would you kindly follow me? I will show you to your quarters.”

His feet took off after you before he could stop himself, but he did make an effort to slow down the pace. His heart raced as he tried to understand exactly how and why he was so… _eager_ over you.

_This couldn’t be normal._

But since then, it’s never stopped, or lessened. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

“Loki!” your voice trills over the air, sinking into his skin, and he lets out a small sigh as he soaks up the sweetness of his name on your tongue. _God, he could think of so many other things he’d like_ … he shakes his head, dazed.

“I have not moved from my spot, kitten,” he drawls, sharp eyes flicking to you as you approach, a small smirk on your lips. He’s starting to become used to the way his skin prickles and his mouth turns dry around you. It’s a numb pleasure, quieting his festinating mind and nipping thoughts.

“What have I said about the nicknames?” but your cheeks are turning a delicate pink. He loves that look on you. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he stands.

“It appears as though you do not mind them as much as you protest them, darling,” his smile turns up one side of his mouth. “Where are we going today?”

“Steve suggested the art museum,” he inwardly growls at the sound of the soldier’s name. Whereas he knows exactly where you stand with the rest of the Avengers, in various forms of platonic kinship, you are extremely different around Steve. Giggly, red-faced, shy.

He doesn’t like it at all.

“But then I figured I know something you’d really like.”

His eyebrows go up. “You have yet to find anything worthy of my attention.”

_Lies, lies, lies._

You grin, “I think, at least, you’ll find it amusing.”

* * *

You want him to dress well. Formal, you said. Suit and tie. Tony actually buys him a suit, laughing all the while at Loki’s attempts to impress you. However, they get along strangely well. Two men vilified by their people at one point or another, both with addictions and family dysfunctions, both coping through sarcasm and quick quips.

“You’ll knock her socks off, kiddo,” Tony proclaims, fixing Loki’s lapels to lay flat, brushing nonexistent dust from the shoulders as he steps back.

“I am considerably older than you,” Loki reminds him quietly, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

“And yet _still_ acting like a kid on his first date,” Tony ticks his head to the side, as if confused. “Wait, is this your first date?”

Loki hesitates, running a hand over his black hair with uncertainty, “This… it isn’t a date.”

“She told you to get dressed up. It’s nighttime in New York. Of course it’s a date,” Tony snorts, dropping on the edge of the bed, already pulling out a contraption from his pocket to fiddle with.

“It’s not my first,” Loki finally replies firmly, tugging on the suit material.

“It totally is,” Tony smirks to himself, pulling a screwdriver from his pocket.

It really isn’t.

You show up in a beautiful dress, the colors perfectly complementing your complexion, the cut emphasizing your best assets. He can’t wait to run his hand through your hair, tilting your head back, nip at the base of your throat…

“You look dashing,” you smile at him, swinging your clutch in one hand.

“And you are stunning, my dear,” he doesn’t even try to keep from basking in your compliment and beauty. You turn a darker pink, eyes ducking his.

“Come on. We’re gonna be late.”

They settle in balcony seats just over the stage, more so to avoid proximity to people than anything else. He’s fine with this. It means that he has you more to himself than in the midst of a crowd.

The show starts and Loki’s neck prickles with sudden realization. He turns to you, almost smiling but trying not to. “Are you _mocking_ me?”

“What?” you grin ear to ear. “I’ve always wanted to see David Copperfield live.”

“This is childish,” he mutters to himself, chuckling. He doesn’t see your proud beam and red flush, nor your hands fluttering uselessly in your lap.

He finds himself intrigued by this human’s fake magic, however, even as he criticizes it. His arm happens to naturally find its way around your shoulders, if only to lean you in closer to hear his derogatory remarks. You’re much closer than you ever have been, and he can smell you distinctly. His mouth waters.

“Loki, look!” you shake him, gaping at the stage. Loki blinks before transferring his gaze from your face to the man on stage. He’s managed to shrink himself inside an impossibly small accordion-like container. The young god smirks.

“Child’s play,” he whispers in your ear, sending a visible tingle through your whole body. He watches you with even more delight than before. Perhaps tonight… perhaps…

The show’s over, and you’re driving them both back to the tower in one of Stark’s less flashy cars. He can’t stop staring at you. He had swiftly realized, back in the theater, that he had fallen for more than just your smooth voice and beautiful exterior. You know him now, just as much as he knows you.

He never thought _personality_ mattered much when it came to sexual partners, but he wants more from you than just sex. He wants conversation and midnight movies. He wants to hold your hand and tease you until that blush makes a reappearance every day. He wants to make you laugh and smile and gush. He wants to listen to you all the time, wants to know how you think of this or that, what you think of when you go to sleep at night. What you dream of and hope for.

He wants to conquer the world, but not for himself this time. Only so that you’d be queen of it.

Loki’s quiet as he follows you out of the garage, listening to your voice intently, even as the words don’t entirely register. He’s so caught up in his own thoughts and your bright expression he hardly realizes you two are alone in the elevator.

He can’t wait any longer, he simply can’t.

Your name comes from his mouth, strangulated and hungry. You look up at him, blinking innocently. “Loki?”

He immediately loses himself in your eyes, unconsciously leaning in, and you’re letting him fall deeper. Your eyes shut; your breathing gutters. His lips just brush yours when the elevator doors swing open, startling you away with their sound.

“I, I had a really good night!” you blurt out, red-faced and wide-eyed. “I’ll, I’ll s-see you tomorrow!” you dash out of the contraption, leaving him alone. Cold. Empty.

... _Well what the hell did that mean_.

He can’t sleep at all that night, tossing and turning as thoughts of you burn through his mind. Surely you wouldn’t have let it happen at all if you didn’t want it? No, you definitely would have made him leave. And he hadn’t been imagining the way you reacted around him. He knows how to read people, and you had been… _flustered_ for most of the night.

So why?

* * *

“I can’t just tell him _now_ ,” your hands clasp your coffee mug tightly as your eyes stare down into the dark liquid. “It’s… it’s inexcusably _late_.”

Natasha glares at you over her third cup, “You woke me up at seven for this. I just got back three hours ago.”

“You’re the only one that can keep a secret here,” you wave a hand, undisturbed by her lack of sleep. Not like you had gotten much last night either. “Loki doesn’t get up until ten on most days, and Tony’s in the lab or asleep by now. Unless you want to have this conversation on mission in Pakistan?”

The red-haired assassin drains the rest of her coffee once more, “It would be preferable.” Her voice is a low grumble. She’s certainly not a morning person. “Just tell him. It’s not like he won’t find out on his own if he tries.”

“He’s…” your voice breaks. “He’s not going to _like_ me anymore, Nat.”

Natasha’s eyes momentarily soften, resting her ceramic mug on the countertop, “If it’s true, and if it’s not just you, then yes. He will like you.” She sighs, shakes her head, and stands to wash out her cup. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you. Woman up. I’m going back to bed.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you call after her feebly. She grunts in return.

You just wish there was an easier way to do this…

* * *

 

“Loki?” you toy with your hair, your favorite nervous expression, as you knock on his bedroom door like you’ve done a thousand times before. Loki opens it, staring down at you with black-smudged eyes. With his bird’s nest hair and drawn expression, he looks like he got even less sleep than you.

You’re distracted by the fact he’s only wearing plaid green pajama pants.

“Yes?” his voice is dry and soft, sending tingles all through you. No pleasant little nicknames, though.

“I…” you falter, shut your eyes, and regain yourself. “I need to talk to you. About…”

“Last night?” he offers when you can no longer continue. You nod. He does a slow blink before returning the gesture. He closes the door for just a moment before reappearing, hollow eyes hidden, hair tamed once more. He’s wearing a shirt now, thankfully, and looks fantastic in just a plain grey tee and black jeans.

“You wanna go get something to eat?” you suggest quietly.

His stomach grumbles, breaking the awkward silence. You smile faintly. A small, tired smirk tugs at the corner of Loki’s lips. “I would be inclined to say yes.”

Ihop isn’t so busy on Tuesday afternoons, you notice. You poke at your crepes’ remnants, eyes flitting up to see Loki’s cool expression as he neatly dissects his the rest of his omelette. You sigh, pushing your plate away, drawing his attention immediately.

“I’m… I’m not just… normal,” you start awkwardly. “I mean… there’s a reason I was assigned to you.” _Fury might actually kill me for this_ , you suddenly realize with a wince. National secrets and all that.

“I assumed,” he nods, uncertainty roiling his stomach so uncomfortably he could hardly bring himself to eat anymore. He wonders what this has to do with last night. No, he worries. His guts are in knots.

Your head bobs as you think how to put this… “I have… _powers_. Much like, y’know, the other Avengers. Mine are… more useful for espionage and… well, non-battle circumstances.” He’s following, despite your hesitating words and fumbling dialogue. “I… My codename is Mesmer.”

He blinks, furrows his brow, “What does that mean?” He’s not an idiot. He’s very aware of what the word ‘mesmer’ means. He’s just wondering what it has to do with this situation.

You stare at him, somewhat hopelessly, “People… people _like_ me. They want to do what I ask them to. I can’t control it, it’s just… _me_. Fury… Fury compares it to sirens, like in Greek mythology.”

Loki takes this in, digests it, and feels… scared. Suddenly scared. “So, you were assigned to _me_ to keep me from acting out, because...”

“Because Fury knew you couldn’t resist,” you reply softly, picking at your nails. “No one can. We… Fury had me test it out on Thor… to make sure Asgardians were susceptible as well.”

Loki’s hand tightens on his fork, feeling the metal bend in his palm, “Test it _how_?”

You shrug, still unable to look him in the eyes, as you ball up your napkin in your hands, “Just little tasks… then… bigger ones…"

“And I assume he did them all because you asked him to?” Loki grits out, trying not to think of these ‘bigger tasks’ you alluded to. He can’t stop picturing Thor acting similarly to him, however. Tripping all over his oafish feet to please you. Falling in love with your visage and voice without truly feeling any of it.

It’s all a lie. Everything he feels… a trick. An illusion.

“I never _ordered_ you to do anything, Loki,” you squeeze out quickly, recognizing he’s becoming more and more upset. “Not after the first few weeks. Remember? I always gave you choices…”

“Not when you made me fall in love with you,” he hisses, drawing a sharp breath from your trembling lips as you stare him in the eyes. They were so dark, so green, so blue, like a frothing ocean. “I never had a choice with that, did I?”

Your jaw quivers as you clench it tight, “I… I didn’t mean…”

“Of course you didn’t,” his chair screeches back as he stands, glaring at you with cold eyes and sickened stomach. “ _Surprisingly_ , that does not aid your cause much.” He’s trying not to let his true emotions out in this public area. He’s already well aware of the eyes on him, and he detests this sort of attention the most. As if he’s already in the wrong, simply for being the angry one. He has a right to be furious with you.

You never told him that he could fall for you and have his emotions played with in such a manner. That his love and affection are only imagined. That you are not who he thought you were. Not only are his emotions unreal, but you are as well. He had fallen for an _image_.

“Will you stop me now?” he whispers, the smallest of misery creeping into his voice.

“If I have to,” you respond sadly, tears glistening in your eyes.

“I am just your _job_ ,” he spits in disgust, but his chest feels like it’s swinging wide open for the whole restaurant to see. His throbbing heart on show, bleeding profusely with every desperate pump. “Am I nothing more to you than your prisoner?”

“Loki…” you start softly, a sob tearing his name apart in your throat. It only makes him more furious. Furious that he fell for you so entirely. That your crocodile tears even now were ripping him apart inside. They _forced_ this on him. He didn’t want to be in love. He didn’t want to feel so much for someone who didn’t care for him.

He never asked for this torment. It’s worse than anything he could have imagined.

“Make me stay,” he threatens, hands gripping the table edge so tightly it creaks. “There is no other way I will.”

“Loki, please, you don’t have to…” you cry, just barely capable of keeping the tears at bay.

“ _Make me_ ,” he growls once more, shoulders tensing. You stare into his eyes, knowing what you have to do, as much as it hurts and tears at you inside.

“Loki, don’t leave,” you utter softly, painfully. His body tenses against the command; now that it’s a foreign threat, he can sense the natural magic in your voice. “Loki, please sit.” He sits, glaring at you hatefully. Your heart is breaking inside of you. Crumbling with every passing second. You let out a watery gasp, refusing to look at him anymore. “We’re going back to the tower, and… I can get you reassigned a new handler.”

“I do not want to be here any longer,” he snarls, wishing he could hate you. Wishing he could end your life on the spot here. But he hates more that he’s putting tears in your eyes and strain on your voice.

You nod blindly, fumbling for your wallet to pay for the meal. “I’ll… I’ll get word to Thor, then.”

He doesn’t speak to you again. Not a word. Just stares at you with such betrayal and anger in his eyes that you can’t bear it.

When he leaves with Thor, the blond god’s eyes are softly empathetic as they turn to you.

Loki is, once more, bound. He’s sure to return to a prison sentence, now that you are no longer to watch over him. There’s precious few ways to keep a god under control without… such covert means. Even if it’s cruel.

When you had signed up for this, you hadn’t expected to fall in love.

You hadn’t expected that you could possibly even get along with this… this man that had promised nothing but pain for the world just a few short years ago. But, unless it had been your spell, he had been so _different_ in person.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not even sure if he can hear you. He doesn’t look your way. Thor raises his hammer, and they’re gone in a flash. You feel the itch of your eyes as they begin to pour out tears.

* * *

>   _He’s waiting to die as he sits all alone._
> 
> _He’s a man, in a cell, who regrets what he’s done._
> 
> _He utters a cry from the depths of his soul -_
> 
> _‘O Lord forgive me, I want to go home!’_
> 
>  
> 
> _Then he heard a voice, somewhere deep inside,_
> 
> _And it said, ‘I know you’ve murdered, and_
> 
> _I know you’ve lied._
> 
> _And I have watched you suffer_
> 
> _All of your life._
> 
> _And now that you’ll listen, I’ll tell you that I…!_
> 
>  
> 
> _I will love you for you!_
> 
> _Not for you have done or what you will become._
> 
> _I will love you for you._
> 
> _I will give you the love, the love that you never knew…’_

 

It’s a song you used to listen to a lot. You played it in the car many times, singing along with every word. Your eyes always shone with tears with every rendition. He had wondered why at the time.

He remembers because he couldn’t imagine how you could possibly relate to this song.

And now he knows. He understands this part most intimately, but how must you feel… if he feels so betrayed, how much you feel? To never know if someone loves you because they see past the magic, or because of your powers.

He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself not to imagine you near him. He could, if he wanted to, create a version of you that loves him back. A version that has no siren-like call on his heart.

It all hurts so much…

“Loki?”

“Go away,” he mumbles, drawing his knees up to his face to hide. He doesn’t want you here. To see him in his cell. Even if it isn’t really you. “You’re not here. I made you.”

Your hand touches his shoulder, stirring him from his position to look up at you. “Do I feel real enough?” Your eyes are remarkably detailed, with a glossy glaze of tears over them. His mouth pops open slightly, eyes gaping to take in your face.

How long has it been? Days, weeks, months since he’s seen you? He’s had a few meals since he left Earth, but food matters little to him when he’s so listless and cooped up. Now that you’re not here to enjoy his meals with.

“You’re not real,” he replies, mouth dry. You laugh and cry at the same time, stifling yourself with a sleeve.

“Okay, then, if that’s what you want to think,” you smile sadly, sitting down beside him. “I don’t think I really explained my powers very well back on Earth, did I?”

“You said enough,” his head rolls against the wall, scowling. “If you insist on being ‘real’ and ‘here’, you might give me the slightest chance of relief.” He tips his eyes to you, slitted. “Although, your lack of kissing and undressing is making a hard case for your reality.”

You laugh, bright and loud, cheeks turning scarlet, “Um, well, if that’s what’ll do it…” you shake your head. “I figured you understood… my power is purely proximal.”

He squints, confused, “Explain.” If he’s understanding you correctly, he wants to hear what you mean from your own mouth. He’s already gravitating around your warmth once more, wanting to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzle into your intoxicating scent and body.

“Well, even if you hadn’t fled to Asgard like some angsty teenager,” you tease gently, “you’d know that my power doesn’t tend to work unless I’m within sight range of my target.”

He blinks. “So…”

“So when Thor said you missed me, I wanted to see…” your voice falters, and you lick your lips nervously. “I wanted to see if you… if you still…”

“I’m in love with you,” he answers honestly, heart thumping furiously in his chest. His first few hours in his cell were enough to convince him of that, even if the days after did not. His body aches without you. His mind is a caterwauling cloud without your comforting presence. “And I always will.”

“Good,” you breathe, leaning in over him. You’re moving far too slowly for his liking. He slides his hands over your jaw and into your hair, pressing in for the kiss he’s been longing for for far too long. His lips are soft against yours, teeth taking little nips and bites as you melt into his lap and body.

If this isn’t the real you, he never wants to know.

“Loki, will you come home with me?” you whisper against his lips, forehead leaning against his cool one. His fingers, long and slender, twist in your hair and brush your skin with loving care.

“That’s much too far away,” he mumbles, snapping his fingers. The cell transforms into his bedroom, blackening the cell walls. It’s not as if he desired the other inmates to see you. You are far too precious for their leering eyes.

You look up and around, smirking, “Do I really seem that kind of girl to you?”

He shrugs mysteriously, “Perhaps I simply wanted a softer surface to sit on.”

“I’m serious,” you murmur, pressing soft kisses to the corners of his thin lips. “Would you?”

He pauses, looks about the room, “As much as I do love my cell, I believe even Midgard would be preferable to being cooped up.”

“ _Even Midgard…_ you are aware I am from there, right?”

“And your unfortunate planet is incredibly fortuitous to have created you, somehow.”

You two are interrupted by someone banging on the door and shouting. Loki sighs and rolls his eyes, allowing the illusion to fade. Thor is grinning on the other side.

“As much as I have been waiting on this moment, the guards are becoming anxious,” he calls sonorously through the cell walls. “And Mother wishes to meet her.”

“Oh gods…” you mumble, suddenly realizing you have to meet actual Asgardian _gods_ , and parents at that. And you’re still a little turned on.

“Are you prepared to meet my mother?” he asks you softly, teasingly.

“I’m still in my work clothes…”

“And you look magnificent,” Loki assures you, unable to keep from laughing at your panicked expression. He stands, offering you a hand. “Now, to meet the royal family?”

“Oh gods…”


End file.
